Burning Castles, Flying Mountains

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parallax-sounds-poster

Where do mountains fly to? And why do castles end up being burned? Questions which no one asks and no one has any answers of. Why do we build up so many questions inside our thick walls of reasons? Where do these questions come from? Why cant we answer them?

This is no story, rather this is an enigma–a puzzle which opens up to more puzzles and more of them. Do we know where we are heading towards and why and what pulls us? Who walks along with us and why don’t they stop? What do we call the millions of dead dreams that we have to carry on our shoulders? Where do we bury them and why cant we forget them?

What is the meaning—the meaning of having so many stars shining up in the night sky while so many dead burning castles in the utter daylight glare at the slowly turning world. Why are we given and bestowed presents and why are they swiftly taken away from us? The music we can hear…and create and fall prey to–where does it come from and why does it come from there?

Who are all the people we meet everyday and smile at and then they smile back so we make small talk and soon they turn into larger than life conversations–all to end up nowhere-because nowhere is as good a place to be. But who are the people and why do they surround us and why do they smile when they can not even recall the last time they had a good laugh? Who are those ghosts in the photographs that we see every time we look at our pictures—just happy, pretending and staring right back at us as if mocking us for being out their alive—but dead. Ghosts mocking at us for being dead.

SO who set the castles on fire? Why did the mountains take flight?

Words, words and more words. Meaningless and fickle and so powerful yet so fragile and so loathsome. Words. My enemies and my friends. Dreams, my bane and my sanity. Happiness–why wisdom. Wisdom–my quest. There is water, but no one is putting the fire out. The fire which burns the castles. How can they?

So here we are, still stuck at questions and still asking around if this is the right way or which is the right way, seldom bothered about why this is the right way…or why this is any way at all for that matter. And here we are, shell shocked because we know there is a way. There always is and we can never see our way around it. This way; o heaven and to hell, to betterment and to the worst of our fallacies, to music and to shade, to light and to dark….so many ways. Yet no shelter and no cure and no where to actually be.

I set the castles on fire. I made  the mountains fly..because no one else would. So the mountains fly and from wayy up in the sky they see the castles being burned down to ash and dust so that it will, travel with the wind towards the mountains and become them. And when they do, they will whisper to each other how there was no way but all there was—was fire and dust and someone who finally let them go. For all they held were empty secrets that no one bothered looking for.

Castles on fire, flying mountains—together we all catch the final breath.

Thus the world turned purple.

 

 

Disperse Into Whispers

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Humans hold no sanctity over others like them. In each picture that goes undeveloped–humans hold sanctity over themselves. And to themselves they are God.
We- are people who have been brewing venom. And we-are people who have been brewed in the poison of others. The chalices that hold us. Bind us. Yet kill us. And so, we kill each other. With our poison.
Of this. There is no escape.
Humans. Atoms held together in a most unlikely and strange, magical way-want escape.
Held in captivity we try hard to find the key which is to us the elixir. No we don’t pretend. We just try. In this search we get lost in the vacuum. Ah. Good old vacuum. Always there. Always helping?
We huddle in a room. Together and apart from each. Trying to break free. We use words. They don’t help. So we linger. But till when?
We want escape.
To run free. To march in a band. To fly. To run. Be away. From each other. To go ten thousand miles beyond the green.
We never do. Instead we stay huddled. In the same room. And we use the same words. And nothing changes. The same tunes keep playing in the background. Carrying different meaning each time.
We never realize..and we never did–how weary we have become of these charades. We blame each other. Each of us are right.
Then we want to escape. And all in different directions. Never to recoil.
It will be the utter death of everything. A grand escape.

* * *

The atoms thus held are all in movement. When movement happens..strange things happen. The cells are in catastrophe. The truth. Yes it is the delusion. One by one–each atom, each cell, each particle gets uncoiled-uncoil. It starts to break away. To move apart. The skin. The muscle. The tissue. Everything. Breaks free. Everything disperses into a cloud. It all disperses into whispers. There is so much noise. So many whispers. So many secrets. So many sounds.

The Grand Escape.

* * *

“I didn’t go to the moon, I went much further—for time is the longest distance between two places. ” The Glass Menagerie

Discovering

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Lets run in circles. And run on pathways. And after trains. And circles. Discovering isn’t very hard.

Lets just roll over the grass. On hills. And sand. And smile.

Lets dive in the water. Open our eyes. Close them again. Smile.

Lets discover.

It is easy they say.

The question is–what happens after this. After the discoveries. After the running. After the rolling. After the dive.

Should you never open your eyes?

It is easy they say.

There is grey. A book. Of unanswered, undefined patterns. And coffee. And in unending paragraphs–there was nothing to dwell–and everything.

There is a camera. And a canvas. And a sheet of paper.

And patterns.

It is very easy they say.

Discovering.

We don’t know what we are discovering. And we never find out.

We keep running in circles. And follow the same cycle. And then we close our eyes, as we dive into the water.

Discovering.

City lights keep burning out. And so we learn that there is life. But that is not a new discovery.

City lights fade.

Now that is worth discovering.

It is very easy they say.

Copper

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Let’s discover Time together. See what happens. How it does so.

Your wrinkled face will tell you that the person you see in the mirror is not you. Is it really you?

Let’s shine together. In our dullness, let’s just shine.

Copper. Just copper.

Let’s see everyone else fly high while we stand below. Shooting them down?

No. Lets build wings. From scratch.

Let’s dig for diamonds.

Wade through the triumph-the sea-the delusion.

Copper. Is it?

What is this music that goes about? While i watch everyone dance!

Let’s get away from here. Run. Hide. Up. Far. Below. Lost. Vanish.

Copper.

Clink our glasses to a toast. Smile. Laugh. Talk. Lie.

Copper

The Watcher

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There is silence, every time a star screams, somewhere in a lost black hole.

And where the swallow rests, there is anarchy.

So  the eagle…roared up in the sky, watching its prey–the snake–the clever snake…

I , watching the eagle watch its prey–watching the watcher, was being watched.

Just silence–and fire and water and air and earth–consume me for i have seen nothing, but seen it all!

Always

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“Dear Leonard. To look life in the face. Always to look life in the face and to know it for

what it is. At last to know it. To love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. Leonard.

Always the years between us. Always the years. Always the love. Always the hours.”

The Grand Illusion

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We–are all, everyone of us, a part of this grand deception. This great illusion. The illusion being that we are not alone. We may have many people by our side. We may have a family. And a million friends. And we may be perfectly bonded and in tune with the nature. But, we are all alone. Each and every one of us. We are all fragile. And we all have this need to grow apart from everything and everyone. This need is the reality. And when we do move apart from the millions of faces and the thousand and one voices—we linger on quietly in a world that is created for the lonely. We sit there and stare and ponder. We are meant to be alone.

This is the grand illusion–crowds.

And so—we hear music.